


Double Trouble

by MintChocolate5



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Batfamily (DCU), Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Batfamily (DCU) Shenanigans, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Gen, Kid Fic, Protective Bruce Wayne, no kids as sidekicks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-01-04 16:13:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21200465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintChocolate5/pseuds/MintChocolate5
Summary: Jason Todd is going to prove his worth to Bruce...if only Tim would stop tagging along.(Or: Jason and Tim do some detective work, get (briefly) kidnapped, kick bad guy butt, stress out Bruce Wayne, try to blackmail Superman, become brothers, and try not to get grounded for life.They achieve about fifty percent of their goals.)





	1. True Detectives

**Author's Note:**

> Rated for occasional bad language.

The chaos of the unloading school buses and hyperactive children made slipping out of sight easy.

There was a singular goal. And after Jason Todd accomplished it, he planned to be back with his school group before any of the chaperones noticed him missing. 

From the directory outside the Daily Planet building, the newspaper itself rented out the bottom thirty floors, and sat on the top seven. The reporters seemed to be clustered on thirty-three to thirty-six. The thirty-seventh held the executive board offices. Then the roof; his target  
location. 

He waited patiently for his class to walk inside, noting that no one appeared to notice him missing, nor did any of the teachers or chaperones bound outside yelling his name. Satisfied that he had at least half an hour, and would receive a warning text from a classmate of his if anyone inquired about him, he went to a door leading to a stairwell, taking the steps two at a time until he ran out of breath and slowed down.

The building had a delivery elevator, and after he made it to the tenth floor, he found it and rode up to the thirty-seventh floor with only the hum of the passing floors as company. 

Once there, the elevator exited to a less populated area of the floor, perfect for deliverers. And for a covert Jason. A sign indicating rooftop access led him further around a corner, not passing anyone on the way. The area was poorly monitored; a fact he counted on.

He stood still, glancing around the old fashioned architecture with high ceilings and exposed brick walls, decorated with newspaper clippings of famous headlines, and was about to cross to get to the rooftop access when a voice made Jason jump.

"What're you doing?"

Jason whirled around. "Jesus fuck! Tim?! Did you follow me?" The question was rhetorical. But how and when were burning on the tip of Jason’s tongue, yet he bit it back because it irked him that Tim managed the feat without notice. And didn’t look out of breath or flustered.

Tim shrugged. "I saw you sneak away."

"And what part of that seemed like an invitation to you?"

Another shrug. Tim looked around curiously, scanning each millimeter of the space with care. The kid had freakishly good observation skills and a light set of feet.

Jason sighed, irritated but already resigned. Tim followed him around the most, a persistent pest that none of the older members of the family would let Jason swat away. 

Wasn't it enough that the kid had skipped three grades and had been placed in Jason's class? Yet no one had sympathy. Dick thought it was cute and wished he had his brothers in class with him. Bruce lectured Jason on being a good older brother and looking out for Tim. Alfred treated him to raised brows and a stiff British lip when Jason complained. 

And now, like usual, Jason got stuck with the kid toeing along behind him, asking a million questions until he lost patience and snapped. Then Tim would sulk, either to make Jason feel guilty enough to answer his questions, or Bruce angry enough to chastise him with weighted words and disappointed looks.

It sucked. Since Tim had joined the family, Jason had become labeled as the bad kid, the troublemaker, whiner; while Tim was the sweet summer child with innocent curiosity and an enormous intelligence. Oh, and his stupid big backpack that dwarfed his small frame that he took everywhere. That enhanced his totally harmless act. But underneath that, Jason knew a little punk heart lay beating, wanting to go places he had no business being and bothering people he should just leave alone.

And Tim was ruining yet another of Jason's days with his unwanted presence. "Go back," Jason gritted out. "Someone is more likely to notice both of us gone."

Tim shook his head. "I told Mr. Banner's group that we would be with Ms. Tilly's. And I told her we'd be with him. As long as we're on the bus back, no one will notice."

That was a good idea. Jason had been banking on the number of students to hide his absence, a few friends to warn him if his absence caused a stir, but this ensured they'd be accounted for since the groups were doing two tours due to size.

This also defeated the reason for Jason to banish Tim back downstairs for the official tour. If Jason didn't let him tag along, it was possible Tim would tattle. Not that he ever had before, except accidentally, but Jason didn't trust him to keep from mentioning Jason's sneaking off if asked by Alfred or Bruce. If they were together, then he had insurance.

“Fine,” Jason sighed, settling on mutually assured destruction instead of the risk of exposure. “But you have to do what I say and don’t ask questions. Agreed?”

“Okay!” Tim chirped, looking happy to be included, which caused Jason to feel resentful guilt.

Jason put a finger to his lips in a shushing motion and waved for Tim to follow him as he crossed the hall to the stairwell with rooftop access. They ascended the first of two staircases, and a quiet Tim lasted only about thirty seconds. “What are we doing?” he whispered.

“I told you, no questions.”

“Can I guess?”

“That’s a question.”

Tim went blessedly silent, but only for a moment. “I’m going to guess,” he said in a declarative statement with deliberate emphasis. Such a little shit.

Rolling his eyes, Jason felt another swell of annoyance. He wanted to tell Tim to shut up, but that would lead to a fight or a grudging silence and possibly to Tim retaliating by going to find one of their teachers. “I’m gathering evidence for B,” Jason said grudgingly. 

Tim’s eyes went wide in understanding and he got even more thrilled. “About Superman,” he breathed, his brain making the right connections. Which meant that Bruce had let him read the secret files on the cave computer. Information that Bruce had deemed Jason too young to look at, so he’d had to sneakily look at it when Bruce went out for his nighttime patrol. More resentment festered.

“Be quiet! We don’t know what his range of hearing is,” Jason said, not managing to suppress his spite completely, “but it’s pretty far and we don’t want to get his attention.”

Complicated mental processes seemed to be happening in Tim’s brain, and he didn’t say anything else at the moment. They reached the top, only to find that the door was locked.

Jason had prepared for that, however. He reached in his pocket and produced a small set of burglary tools. He turned to explain to Tim how to pick the locks but Tim was holding out his own set.

“Of course you have that,” Jason muttered.

“I always carry it around.”

Weirdo, Jason thought for the millionth time. 

Tim had come to live with them six months ago, not exactly Bruce’s ward, but close to that. 

The official story was: Tim Drake’s wealthy parents traveled constantly, and wanted an old family friend to provide some stability for their twelve year old son. 

The real story was more like: Bruce found out that Tim had no adult caregiver in some convoluted way that Jason hadn't been able to ferret out of either party. Tim had been fabricating the existence of a caretaker for over a year, the details of how foggy. Bruce had confronted Tim, and then Tim tried to blackmail Bruce into leaving him alone by revealing that he knew the older man’s secret nighttime vigilant hobby. 

That backfired. Instead of getting Bruce off Tim’s back, Bruce got even more involved. 

Jason could’ve predicted that one. As Alfred had muttered after the fact: place Bruce in proximity to a smart and family-less kid and he’d adopt him in a heartbeat. With Tim it was a bit more complicated because he actually had parents alive and well (another fact that made Jason feel a tight knot of angry resentment), but the outcome turned out to be essentially the same. Tim lived with them full-time upon an  
agreement made with Tim’s parents, and Bruce had guardianship papers to make any meaningful decisions. 

It wasn’t fair. Tim now basically had three parents, plus an Alfred. While Jason now had to divide Bruce and Alfred by three, instead of the more manageable two.

And the kid was good at everything. He excelled at academics, like at a genius level, putting Jason’s decent A’s and B’s to shame. He was naturally good at gymnastics, with a body type similar to Dick’s (Jason was getting too husky, better suited for contact sports), and an eagerness to learn that softened Dick into a puddle of brotherly goo even worse than he was with Jason. Tim was amazing with computers, a skill that had Bruce working together with him to get pointers.

And he had the gall to be prepared for any situation. 

Jason seethed, irrationally furious, and ignored Tim’s grin at both of them having lock picking sets. He turned his focus to the lock, an easy one, and jimmied it like Bruce had taught him, getting the door open in two minutes. Probably a minute longer than Tim would’ve been able to.

“Let’s go,” he mumbled, regretting his assent to the kid tagging along. Now he wouldn’t even be able to take complete credit for what he found. 

His plan was to surprise Bruce with more data about their newest obsession: the being the media called Superman.

Two months ago, the flying metahuman (who claimed to be an alien, but yeah right) saved a crashing plane of people with disconcerting ease and had been interviewed by the Daily Planet the very same day. Since then, Superman, as the papers unoriginally dubbed him, stepped in for major natural disasters, Metropolis related crimes, or other catastrophes that carried no pattern. Why Superman had chosen that particular city, they were still theorizing. There were devices Bruce had installed around Metropolis to measure the air displacement and fast moving objects. Then he had mapped the coordinates of the triggering events. Many of them were clustered around the roof of the Daily Planet. 

Bruce hadn't made plans to go to Metropolis in order to study the physical locations and look for clues. His attention was captured by a more immediate problem; a heroin trafficking ring that had become more active in the last two weeks and where the perpetrators were planning to move cargo in the next few nights.

So Jason thought he'd help with the project put on the backburner. And maybe show Bruce that he WAS old enough to fight crime and assist with the Batman. 

Bruce had strict guidelines about the boys involvement. He wouldn't even let Dick out into the field--refusing to consider it until after he turned 21. It was so unfair. Dick had protested, loudly, many times, and Jason agreed that they should be able to help more. Perhaps even get their own superhero identities! How cool that would be. But so far, Dick subsided in his attempts to convince Bruce to let him get involved and seemed happy to focus at college.

But Jason wouldn’t give up. He had the whole thing worked out. First, he needed to prove he could handle the fieldwork sleuthing. Bruce allowed him, and Dick when he was younger and now when he was around some weekends, to provide assistance in the batcave. He even let Tim join, a full year before Jason had gotten permission. With that kind of precedence, Jason stood a chance of being included earlier. He just had to prove his capabilities and Bruce would welcome him into the fold. What was the point of their extracurriculars (fighting, gymnastics, weapons, computers) if they weren’t going to be included?

Tim was an unwelcome intruder on his plan but Jason could roll with the punches. 

With the door unlocked, Jason led and Tim followed. The rooftop itself wasn't particularly nice or meant for people to dwell. The view was decent from one side of the roof, glancing upon the more residential sections of the city. The large metal cylindrical planet stood above the roof, held in place by several pillars. That obscured the side of the road that overlooked the high rises and taller corporate buildings. 

If Superman did frequent the Daily Planet roof, then he must leave a trace of that behind. Fibers from his uniform. Burn marks from takeoff. 

“Maybe he left a handprint or footprint,” Tim suggested, scanning the area with concentration. 

This was possible, and there were many prints left behind from Superman assisting with malleable materials and using his strength. The airplane he'd landed contained deep indents from where Superman held the plane. However, no one had recovered DNA from the prints. No biological discard had been found ever, at any rescue site. Highly unusual.

That didn't mean they shouldn't check. “I'll look on this side, and you can take the other,” Jason ordered. Tim nodded. 

They were quiet for the next half hour, carefully searching. 

Jason was the one to find something first. It was a tie. Dark blue, cheap material, and decorated with cartoonish pens and pencils. The unusual part was that it was nestled in a box underneath a bunch of pipes. The box was plastic and Jason had used gloves to open it carefully. The box also had a set of clothes. 

“Tim,” Jason said, “do you have any sealable bags?” 

Tim ran over, eager. He reached into his backpack and produced a sealable bag that Bruce taught them to use for evidence collection. “Do you think it's for...you-know-who?”

“I don't know. But we can scan them in the lab.” Jason sniffed the material and didn't detect any foul or pungent odors. But the clothes also didn't look newly washed or smell of detergent. Gently worn and then placed in the box for safe keeping. 

“That shirt is really large,” Tim commented. 

“Looks like it would fit him,” Jason said, tampering his excitement with seriousness. He wanted to be professional about this. 

“Can I see the pants?” 

“No. We can look at it them when we get home.”

“But I had an idea—” 

Jason sealed the bag. “Let's finish looking and get back to the tour group before we get in trouble.”

“You never listen to me,” Tim muttered sourly. 

Jason scowled. “You followed me without asking! I don't owe it to you to listen when you weren’t wanted here in the first place.” The words erupted out without thought. 

Tim looked at him with shining eyes and that made the guilt resentment combination roar up and spill out as anger.

“I thought I could help,” Tim said, head tilting down so his hair obscured his face.

Jason hated when Tim played the victim. It made Jason feel bad but also frustrated that Tim didn't stand up to him and tell Jason to go fuck himself. 

Before he could think about what he was going to say, maybe do a breathing exercise Alfred had taught him to calm down, Jason acted on his anger and snapped. “I never asked for your fucking help and I never asked for you to live with us. I don't want another brother. I wish you'd just leave me the fuck alone!” 

Tim reeled back in shock. Stiffened. And his face went blank. Without a word, he pivoted and went back through the roof door, not so much with an actual slam as a metaphorical one. 

Jason, of course, felt horrible immediately, sick with himself. He always did this, spoke without thinking. Why couldn’t he just control himself? Dick and Alfred had lectured him about being nicer to the twelve year old, and how he needed to be assured that they wanted Tim there. His real family apparently hadn't been the best, what with leaving him alone for years on end and getting so easily fooled that there was someone around to babysit. Not good or responsible parents in the least. Downright neglectful, Dick had muttered once. 

He paced back and forth on the roof for several minutes. But before Jason could decide whether to go find Tim and apologize (ugh) or let it be (maybe), a ear-piercing series of bangs made Jason jump. 

A familiar sound to someone who listened over a comm device when Batman went out into the dark to fight crime: gunshots.

Tim, Jason thought in panic, and raced to the door.

~*~

~*~

~*~

Tim stormed down the rooftop stairway, intent on leaving the building entirely and perhaps spending the day wandering around Metropolis to see what he could find in the dregs of the city on his own. He had his camera, like usual, in his bag and several hundred dollars sewn both into the seams of the bag, but also his shoes and jeans. He’d learned over the years to be prepared to simply hop in a cab or on a bus quickly, or to bribe someone to leave him alone. A hundred bucks went a long way on the street. 

_I don't want another brother. And I wish you'd just leave me the fuck alone! _The words echoed in Tim’s head, on repeat. Tim wanted to scream back at Jason that he didn’t ask to be his brother, either, but the words always got stuck in his throat at the contemptuous look in Jason’s eyes, and he had to admit that he couldn't fault the older boy for hating Tim. Tim didn’t have anything to offer him, or Dick, or Bruce, or Alfred. Sometimes he thought it would be better if he withdrew a bunch of money and disappeared, somewhere, anywhere, as long as it was a place he would finally stop being a burden.

He reached the bottom of the rooftop stairwell and exited to the other side, where more than thirty floors of descent greeted him. He sighed forlornly as he began a trek down. Before made it more than a few floors, however, gunfire and screams filled with the air with a dizzying suddenness, freezing Tim halfway between steps in fright.

He said a word that Alfred would’ve scolded him and whipped out his phone…no signal. Unusual, given the strength of the wireless connector on his phone and the tinkering he’d done to enhance it. They must have a frequency blocker, whoever ‘they’ were. He needed information and a way to contact the police and Bruce. 

And Jason!

Tim immediately turned heel to make his way back up. 

But the entrance to the floor below him slammed open abruptly and several men in black tactical gear and automatic weapons filed in, shouting.

Tim said a bad word again.


	2. Aggressive Tactics

Jason cursed as he checked his phone with one hand—no connection, _fuck fuck fuck_—and shoved through the rooftop door with the other, backpack swung haphazardly over his shoulder. “Tim!” he shouted. It had been about five minutes, at most, since Tim left in a huff, and he couldn’t have gone far. 

Jason leaped from the top step to the lowest one before twisting around the corner to make another jump—

“Slow down,” a man said, appearing suddenly in Jason’s path of descension. 

Assessment: dark-haired racially ambiguous but mostly caucasian appearing male, physically imposing, in his early thirties, at least 6’5 with a wide receivers shoulders, glasses, and wearing a button down and slacks. Not frightened, going away from viable exit points. 

That added up to one reasonable explanation: the man was securing the roof for those responsible for the gunshots. He was one of the bad guys.

“You should go hide on this floor, there’s a storage room if you take two rights and, whoa, hey!”

Jason grabbed the rail, using his higher position and momentum to aim a vicious kick at the man’s ribs. His heart pounded. He’d only ever done this in training with his family and various instructors Bruce hired to teach them. But despite the adrenaline, the movements were muscle memory. 

The kick connected to what felt like a cement wall but before Jason could even blink and worry about breaking his foot or facing an opponent that could be wearing a tactical vest or something, the man curled around his foot from the impact and stumbled back, not falling like Jason had hoped.

“Like I’m going to fucking let you go help your buddies,” Jason spat, and didn’t stop his movement, moving closer to deliver a series of jabs and throat punches. 

“Kid, stop! You’ve got this wrong,” but the man dodged those blows expertly and this supported the bad guy theory because Jason didn’t think anyone with that level of combat skill would randomly be going to the roof. 

He needed to secure the man for questioning and discover what was going on. Ducking under one large tree trunk arm, Jason held the sleeve of the man’s arm with one hand and pushed off the wall with his feet to spring on the man’s back, legging winding around his torso. Jason slid his backpack down his arm at the same time and wrapped one strap around the man’s neck, tightening the improvised noose in a choke. He’d subdue the larger adult to unconsciousness and then interrogate him.

But the man wasn’t gasping for air. 

He wasn’t even trying to dislodge Jason.

“Listen to me,” the man repeated, hands carefully holding the strap like Jason wasn’t leaning back with all his strength, using techniques that should’ve worked. “I’m a reporter. I’m not involved with the gunmen downstairs. You can reach into my pocket for my wallet, which has my ID and press credentials. I work in the building.”

Jason tightened the strap but the man still didn’t actively retaliate, just resisted the pressure with his hands, calm and sure. Bruce always lectured about the importance of thinking through each action. About how being clear-headed in the midst of a fight was the hardest thing to learn but the most important.

With rapid fingers, Jason reached into the man’s pocket and pulled out his wallet, flipping it open one-handed to reveal a drivers license: Clark Kent, 3322 Amsterdam Way, Apartment 9G, Metropolis. Peaking out of another slim pocket was a laminated card, the words PRESS PASS, DAILY PLANET visible at the top.

Jason unwound his backpack from Clark Kent’s neck slowly, waiting to see if he’d take the opening to try and strike at Jason. But he didn’t move. 

Dropping without sound, Jason straightened and went around to face Clark Kent. “Sorry, man,” he mumbled, disappointed at himself for the mistake. He could have seriously hurt Mr. Kent. Bruce’s voice echoed in his mind, sternly pointing out the indicators that Mr. Kent was a civilian; his glasses, for one, were so nerdy no self-respecting bad guy would wear them, and his demeanor meek, despite his size. 

Another series of shots fired, muted from distance but unmistakable. Jason promptly pushed his remorse aside for later remonstration, about to race forward to his earlier goal of finding Tim but Mr. Kent stepped in his way when Jason tried to sidestep.

Jason frowned. “I need to find my brother.”

“You won’t be any use to your brother if they find you and keep you captive too,” Mr. Kent said sympathetically but with authority. “I’ll take you to where that storage room I mentioned is—”

“And what exactly are you going to do?” Jason demanded. “There’s no exit from the roof, no fire escapes, and my phone wasn’t working up there so I’m going to guess yours won’t either.”

Mr. Kent gave him a frustrated look but before he could convince Jason to do whatever dumb thing adults deemed safe for a teenager in this situation, Jason heard commotion in the corridor outside the rooftop stairwell on the nearest floor.

“I swear, I was the only one here,” Tim’s voice was, ironically, the most welcome sound. “I snuck away because I got bored with the tour. Please don’t hurt me!” The last part was shouted, likely a warning for Jason. Then he heard the telltale smack of flesh connecting with flesh and Tim’s pained cry; it took everything in Jason to not barrel out and fling himself onto the nearest asshole with a gun and beat him bloody. 

Mr. Kent looked furious which turned his meek demeanor into something more intimidating but reassured Jason that it was unlikely he was working with the gunmen. “Go up and hide,” Mr. Kent mouthed.

Jason ignored him, willing Tim to give him more.

And like he’d heard Jason’s plea, Tim said loudly, “The two of you don’t need to aim a gun at me, I’m only a kid. Please, I just want to go back downstairs with my school.”

“You shouldn’t have been sneakin’ around,” a gruff man said. One of two, and about two feet from the left of the door. Just close enough...

“Kid,” Mr. Kent said urgently, his glasses lowered weirdly on the bridge of his nose as he seemed to scan the ground. Jason took advantage of Mr. Kent’s inattention and took out his phone, scrolled to a saved video, bent over to put his phone on the ground, and pressed play.

“NO, DON’T,” Dick’s voice on the video screamed out, half-laughter, half outrage, as Bruce turned a full force hose, dosing him in water, at their Fourth of July party, to the howling laughter of Jason, who recorded the entire incident. 

Mr. Kent jumped, staring at Jason in horror.

“What the fuck was that?” one of the men on the side demanded. 

“I don’t know!” Tim said, but he knew the video as well as Jason, having been next to him and shaking with mirth. 

“I’ll check it out,” and the movement towards the door was enough. Mr. Kent stood frozen in surprise as Jason quickly shoved the door open, bashing whoever was coming through with the force. The guy fell to the ground, stunned, dropping his gun, which Jason kicked away and then stomped on his knee brutally, snapping the leg at an odd angle and causing an animal howl to emit from the incapacitated man. He grabbed the man’s head and smashed it to the ground into unconsciousness.

The second man held Tim, astonished and gaping at the unexpected twist. He had an arm around Tim’s neck and a gun loosely held at his other side. He tightened his hold on Tim, gun turned to aim at Jason, and shakily said, “I’ll shoot if you move closer.”

Mr. Kent came out with his hands held high. “I don’t think that’s really what you want to do, is it?” 

The gunman’s eyes flickered to Mr. Kent. Before he could reply whether he did, indeed, wish to continue with his siege of the newspaper and hostage taking of a kid, Jason said, staring right at Tim: “Now.” 

What no one but Jason had seen was the small device clutched in Tim’s hand, a piece of technology used by a certain vigilante to disable firearms. The device had a magnetic strip with a built in frequency to detect gunpowder and, once activated, attach to the nearest gun. When attached, it did some science-y thing that Jason was fuzzy on that resulted in the gun jamming and becoming inoperable. 

Tim activated the device and it clicked onto the weapon instantly. Tim thrashed his foot to connect with the gunman’s instep, with an elbow to the face simultaneously, causing the gunman to falter and try to shoot. 

Tim ducked, scrambling away, and Jason lunged to grab and push the smaller boy behind him, just in case.

Both boys knew the gun wouldn’t work, but that didn’t need to be tested because in less time than it took to blink, Mr. Kent had the gunman knocked out and gun secured, before the guy had a chance to try the trigger.

“Holy shit,” Jason said, breathing hard, heart thumping. He actually did it! They were all alive. His training worked! 

Tim peaked from behind him, apparently not fazed by being kidnapped and held at gunpoint. “Who’s that?”

Mr. Kent gave them both a flinty glare. “I assume this is your brother,” he didn’t wait for Jason to answer, “so go to the supply closet and wait there.” This wasn’t a request but an order.

This time, Jason was fine with obeying. “Roger that, Kent,” and gave him an insolent salute, you know, to show that Jason listened because he wanted to.

“But how did you—” Tim started but Jason grasped him by the wrist and dragged him around the corner until they found the infamous supply room.

The door closed behind him, Jason turned and shook Tim. “What the fuck were you thinking!” he whisper-yelled. “Why didn’t you hide when you heard the gunshots?”

Tim gave him a mulish look. “I ran into them on the stairs before I could do anything useful. They took me as leverage against anyone looking to play ‘hero,’” he said with the quotation marks audible around the last word. “Like that guy you were hanging around.”

“Clark Kent,” Jason told him, pensive, “he’s a weird one. I thought he was with the gun brigade but he’s a reporter here. Ran into him when he was going up and I was trying to go down. Not sure what he hoped to do, maybe he thought he could get a better cell phone signal from the roof.”

“A better signal,” Tim said slowly, eyes widening. “The blocker they have—I bet it doesn’t extend much past this building, if at all. They probably lined them up and down the floors, not across blocks. So if we can get to another building…”

“We can get a signal,” Jason finished, alight with eagerness. “But we need intel to provide the police with.”

“There’s eight of them, six now, armed with AR-15’s, untrained white nationalists and they’re mission driven based on their perceived injustice of white oppression and the newspaper’s role in supporting that oppression,” Tim explained.

Jason stared incredulously. “You got all that from being held hostage?”

Tim shrugged. “They talked a lot. Their leader wants the world to hear their message.”

“I don’t think I want to know more,” Jason shook his head. “Let’s get our phones working and call Bruce. He’ll tell us what to do.”

Leaving the supply closet, they returned to the roof, luckily not running into anyone else. The two goons they’d knocked out before were tied up neatly with some rope that hadn’t been there before.

“Mr. Kent isn’t as geeky as he looks,” Jason muttered.

Once on the roof, they encountered another problem. 

“Hm,” Tim eyed the distance between the Daily Planet building and the closest one over, much taller and smooth with windows, no balconies nor not easy to hold ledges. They could hear the police sirens wailing on the other side, obscured by the large metal cylindrical planet and pillars. 

“Maybe I could scale the side of the building down,” Jason suggested dubiously. Tim turned his backpack over his shoulder to the front and rummaged around. “What convenient tool are you going to pull out now…” he trailed off when Tim produced one of Bruce’s grappling hooks.

“Ta da,” Tim said dryly.

“You know what, you’re an odd bird, but a highly prepared one. I’m never going to make fun of you again for that,” Jason vowed. “Do you serious carry around all that stuff, just in case?”

“Oh, um, yeah, I guess,” Tim said, reddening when Jason ruffled his hair. 

“You’re my new favorite.”

Tim smiled hesitantly. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Jason paused. “I’m. Well. I’m sorry. About those things I said earlier. I didn’t mean them and I shouldn't have said it”

“It’s okay, I get it,” Tim said, “I wouldn’t want me as a brother either.”

“What? Tim, no, that’s not how I feel!” Even though it was, in a way, how Jason felt. But that wasn’t really because of Tim, but how life changed for Jason as a result of Tim’s presence. In fact, Jason rather liked Tim as a brother. The kid was smart, scrappy, and sarcastic as fuck when he got comfortable with a person. Tim was Jason’s favorite person to watch movies with because he would mumble hilariously cutting remarks about the action sequences or movie magic tech that had Jason in stitches. “Okay, maybe sometimes I feel that way. But not because of you.”

“Yeah, whatever. I said I get it.”

“No, listen,” Jason grabbed Tim’s shoulders because this was important. “Sometimes I feel like you,” this was tough to spit out but Jason owed Tim to be honest, especially after what he’d said earlier and from the cumulation of that kind of bullshit he’d said to Tim over the months, “I feel like you replaced me.” There. It was out.

“What?” Tim echoed in astonishment. “Replaced you how?”

“Like,” Jason made a gesture.

Tim squinted at Jason’s hands in confusion.

With a sigh, Jason tried to explain. “I don’t know. Replaced me as Dick’s brother. Replaced me as Alfred’s favorite. Replaced me as Bruce’s son,” he said the last part lowly.

Tim stared at him. “You’re making fun of me,” he said flatly.

“How is that making fun of you? I’m completely serious. Since you moved in, I’ve become this problem child that no one likes. All I do is cause drama and make that vein in Bruce’s neck look like it’s gonna pop.”

That startled a laugh out of Tim. “That vein always looks like it’s gonna pop.”

“Maybe,” Jason allowed.

“But you’re crazy,” Tim continued, “I’m not your replacement. How could I replace you? You just said it- you’re already Dick’s brother, Alfred’s favorite, and Bruce’s son. I mean, yeah, you’re kinda an asshole but they aren’t just going to stop loving you. But me? I’m none of those things. I’m a charity case that people feel sorry for and try to help but eventually forget about. I wouldn’t worry too much; in another few months, Bruce will be tired of me, the shine will wear off for Dick and Alfred, and I’ll go back to my parents or whatever.” 

Jason gaped in pure astonishment. “No, I think you’re the crazy one here! Because that’s utter bull fucking shit. Wow, you can’t really think Bruce will get tired of you.”

Tim looked down and didn’t answer; which told Jason everything.

“Okay, give me that,” Jason took the grappling hook, “we don’t have enough time right now for me to explain how ludicrous that idea is. But I will when we get back home. I’m only going to say that you’re completely wrong. I know how that feels but it isn’t like that with Bruce. Now, do you want to stay here or piggyback it?”

“Can you hold my weight?” Tim asked with unflattering skepticism.

Jason huffed. “You’re, like, ten pounds. Just hop on, this’ll be easy.” And when Tim scrambled onto Jason’s back, he wasn’t exaggerating much at how light the kid was. 

“Aim for that balcony there, it’s wide,” Tim pointed. 

Jason felt a thrill, having only used the grappling hooks around the Wayne property and in the cave’s gym, never in a real situation. “Here we go, hang on,” and Tim grasped his arms around Jason’s neck tightly and clung but didn’t seem afraid. 

Jason shot the grappling hook and it flew where he aimed, taking purchase on the balcony edge. “Ready.”

“Ready,” Tim repeated, trusting.

Jason went to the edge and with a deep inhalation, he jumped. Both boys let out jubilant cries.

At the same time, both his and Tim’s phone began to beep and they distantly heard a shout.

~*~

~*~

~*~

Bruce Wayne arrived to the Daily Planet minutes after the attack ended with Superman breezing in to save the day. The metahuman/being/possible-alien captured, restrained, and left the domestic terrorists on the front stairs of the Planet, all uninjured except for two. Bruce didn’t stop to wonder at that yet, he’d have time to analyze the alien’s actions for increased aggression later, but now he had more urgent priorities. 

There were no reported casualties. 

That didn’t prevent him from worrying when neither Jason nor Tim were immediately visible in the rush of released school children that looked around their ages. Bruce didn’t reach any hasty conclusions but went up to the first Gotham Academy teacher he spotted, apparently a Mr. Banner, who stuttered out the boys had been with Ms. Tilly’s group. But when he located and spoke to her, she confusedly reported the reverse.

As he searched, he continually called and texted, and tried to fry the signal blockers to no avail. Their GPS trackers obviously needed to be updated, and a better type of signal that could survive a blocker was bumped to the top of his R&D list.

The police were entering the building to take pictures of the scene for evidence. And Bruce was about to unobtrusively follow but a reporter speaking to an officer caught his attention.

“—wasn’t Superman’s doing. I was there. I was going up to the roof to see if I could get my phone to work there and ran into this teenager on the way. He was wearing jeans and a black hoodie, dark brown hair, racially mixed, white and Hispanic, maybe, about 15 or 16. I didn’t catch his name, but I’d recognize him. He was looking for his brother, who ended up being the kid that the terrorists took as a hostage while they searched for stragglers. Tim, I think his name was.”

Bruce strode over, interrupting. “Those are my sons, Jason and Tim,” he said urgently, not even having to put on the Bruce Wayne Drama King act. “Where are they?”

Neither the officer nor reporter begrudged his interruption. The reporter gave him a gentle smile. “I told them to hide in a supply closet on the top floor. They should still be there, unless one of the officers found them already. I was just telling Detective Marones what happened…” but Bruce turned heel and started to run. He highly doubted Jason and Tim would stay in a supply closet while terrorists ran loose. And if they did, he highly suspected they’d kill each other.

“Sir, you really shouldn’t—”

Bruce ignored him.

When he got to the entrance, he wasn’t pleased to see the reporter dogging him. “Mr. Wayne, allow me to show you where they hid, and I’ll tell you the rest of what happened. I think you might want to know, as their father,” he said, adjusting his black framed glasses that were a touch too big to be fashionable. The reporter slumped his shoulders, poor posture likely going to give him back pain sooner rather than later.

“Fine,” Bruce said. The elevators had been stopped in the emergency and weren’t back up and running yet. Bruce turned to take the stairs; the reporter bravely following. As they went up, the reporter explained how he came to interact with Jason and Tim, and the harrowing situation that the two boys had found themselves and how Jason acted bravely and decisively, fighting the men off. 

The reporter, at the ninth floor, even managed to casually inquire where Jason learned those kinds of moves. Bruce shrugged, cited an after-school karate class, and climbed faster. Halfway, the reporter had to stop to take a few gulps of air and wiped his forehead, which Bruce would’ve found annoying except he noted with narrowed eyes that the reporter wasn’t actually sweating.

“What did you say your name was?” he asked, not slowing, nor labored in his breathing.

“Clark Kent,” the reporter breathed heavily, trudging to the next floor with exertion that was beginning to feel more like a performance. Bruce had a radar for falsity, having been a close studier of the practice himself for so long. His radar pinged.

By the time they reached the thirty-seventh floor supply closet that was, of course, empty save for supplies, Kent had finished the story, kept up (both climbing wise and his performance of breathlessness) giving Bruce a fresh wave of anxiety at guns being waved around and forcing him to remember that he trained those boys so if this happened, they could protect themselves. 

Kent’s glasses kept slipping like the cheap plastic they were. He sighed when he saw the closet was unoccupied, but offered, “They could be on the roof. That’s where Jason was coming from when we intersected.”

Bruce turned swiftly back and went to the stairs, Kent slower to trail him. Less than a minute later, he emerged to the roof, scanning immediately for his boys. His eyes settled on the distant form of two boys, Tim clinging to Jason’s back like a monkey, about to jump over the edge.

His heart stopped. “Jason!” he yelled. “Tim!” The familiar sound of a grappling hook slowed his heart rate but he still found himself racing to the edge even as Jason leapt over. The reporter also came through the door at that moment and his alarm made Bruce think that he may dive after them.

But both boys let out whoops of exhilaration as they swung in a perfect arch. Bruce and Kent watched them safely make it to a balcony. 

Bruce sighed. How was he going to explain this? From the corner of his eye, Bruce could see the sharp intelligence in the reporter’s eyes and the questions about to swarm out of his mouth. 

Bruce affected his dumbest persona and opened his mouth to preempt suspicion. 

~*~

~*~

~*~

Several hours later,Tim sat in his room and sulked after getting a stern lecture from Bruce. So what if he shouldn't have snuck away from the class, or gotten caught by the bad guys (how was he supposed to have predicted that, huh?), or left the supply closet, or rappelled off a roof? How was he to know that Superman saved the day and the danger was over? Bruce had unrealistic expectations for his ability to foresee the future.

Jason received a more intense reprimand, which turned into a shouting match, and then the older boy getting grounded. To show a united front, Tim retreated to his room as well, letting the silence act as a moment to think and process the day. 

Something odd niggled at his mind. 

He reviewed the events of the day: school trip, following Jason, trip to the roof, investigation, argument, going back downstairs, getting caught by the terrorists, Jason coming to his rescue, the device to jam the gun, that reporter grabbing the gun, the supply closet, then roof again and the feel of the air rushing past as he and Jason flew...

He paused, rewound the day. 

That reporter. When they’d been in a standoff, before the gunman even pulled the trigger, the reporter knocked him out.

_ How? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter to follow by the end of the week...


	3. Errors Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys test a theory.

~*~  
_Six weeks later_  
~*~

Letter addressed to: CLARK KENT, DAILY PLANET, REPORTER

_We know. It was a super surprise. But we have questions. Call using the phone we included in the package. Midnight tomorrow. We don't want to reveal your identity, we just have questions, so do as we say. _

~*~

~*~

~*~

“He's not going to call,” Jason whispered, huddled next to Tim while they drilled holes in the burner phone they purchased. They were sitting against the wall in Tim's room, furthest from the rest of the house. It was past the time that Bruce went out. They'd heard him leave an hour ago. 

“Then we'll think of something else,” Tim said, equally quiet. 

“Got the voice modulator?” 

“Yeah,” Tim grabbed a small device from a pile on his dresser. 

“Who should—”

Both jumped when the phone rang at precisely midnight. 

“You,” Tim shoved the modulator over. 

Jason snatched it and turned it on as he pressed the green button to take the call. “Superman,” he said in a monstrous gravelly voice. That particular model had been discarded years ago by the Batman and re-purposed by the boys in their games. And now came in handy for their own machinations. Tim pulled out his computer and hooked the phone up with a cable, recording the exchange. 

There was a stretch of silence. 

“No,” Clark Kent said, confused or trying hard to sound like it. “Who are you?”

Jason channeled his best Batman answer. “That's not your concern. Don't bother lying to me, I know who you are, Superman. And if you cooperate, we will keep your secret.”

Tim nodded his approval. 

“Look, you’ve got this wrong. I’m not Superman!” Kent protested again. “I occasionally interview him and I could try and pass a message along. Why do you want to contact him?”

Jason ignored the question. Tim shoved his computer at Jason, gesturing silently to numbered list of evidence of their theory. More than a month of research and investigation had yielded much to support why they believed Kent was masquerading as Superman, or vice versa. “A pair of glasses isn't much disguise. I've seen you use your powers. You were adopted by the Kent's but there's no record of you before that. While you traveled around the world, miraculous things happened in the places you went. When you arrived to Metropolis, Superman appeared for the first time. Too many coincidences to ignore. You can deny the truth, but we aren't stupid.”

Tim smacked Jason. 

_Hey!_ he mouthed.

_We?!_ Tim waved between them. Oops. They'd agreed beforehand to pretend their was only one person making the demands for information. Oh well. 

Clark was silent again. But no dial tone reached their ears and they waited with baited breath to see how the possible alien would react. 

“What do you want?” And it was Superman talking now. A minor change in intonation but he sounded more confident, his voice deeper. Lack of denial. 

No.

Way.

Jason and Tim straightened and stared at each other in surprise. Despite the strength of their theory, the mounds of circumstantial evidence and direct observation of him using his superpowers, they'd still kept open the possibility of an alternative explanation. It seemed almost too fantastical that the strongest being on their planet would be working as a mild reporter with terrible fashion sense and a rather dull seeming life. But it was also the perfect disguise. Even with their confidence, neither of them saw Superman in Clark Kent, but when they'd analyzed the physical similarities without trying to picture the two men interposed, the results indicated a likely match. 

But with that single statement, Jason felt as if their theory was proven true. 

Jason opened his mouth to release a flood of questions, many taken from Bruce's spreadsheets on the topic, others written by Tim, when a fourth voice startled him. 

“Master Tim,” Alfred said from the other side of Tim's door, sound faint but audible, “I see your light on still. Would you care for a small snack?” 

“Shit,” Jason panicked and fumbled with the phone to immediately hang up. 

“Oh no,” Tim said and they traded wide eyed worried looks. 

That would be plenty of information, if Superman heard Alfred. And how could he not with his enhanced hearing that was at least good enough to hear calls for help from around the world? If he did hear, it wouldn't be difficult to put the pieces together, if he remembered about Jason and Tim and really, it wasn’t that hard a connection to make. He probably hadn’t used his powers in front of that many people while dressed as a civilian. They knew they were taking a risk anyway, but had thought enough time passed to make the possibility more remote, as well as the fact that they were kids.

Jason and Tim stood hastily, dashing across the room to the door and out. “We need to get to the cave, now!” Jason said urgently to Alfred, who looked at them both with confused consternation.

That was when the doorbell rang. 

Freezing, Jason felt fear burst in a adrenaline filled wave. Tim, too, held still.

“Boys,” Alfred said calmly, “what is going on?”

Their carefully crafted plan was crumbling. Jason realized they should have told Bruce the information immediately instead of trying to impress him with more of a discover. Now, having not fully contemplated the consequences, Jason's family could be in great danger if Superman decided to take action to keep his secrets. 

He clenched a fist and forced himself to calm down and think, like Bruce taught him. Use his fear. Morph the panic into determination. If the doorbell ringing was, in fact, Superman, then that meant two things. One, that he hadn't immediately stormed in through the wall and so was going to try a more peaceful approach. He wasn't angered into striking at them. Yet. Two, if he was outside, then he would be able to see and hear everything they did and said. 

So, what steps did he need to take? Ascertain the danger. Alert the others. Hide; if not possible, stall. 

“Dad's out late,” Jason said to Tim. “I hope he gets home soon.” The doublespeak Bruce had taught them would serve well. 

The words unfroze Tim, who understood quickly and acted with the same speed to whip his phone out and press the button that would alert the family. He typed another message as well and then clutched the phone in his hand. He tapped more, and then showed the screen to Jason. They had access to the video surveillance and saw that it was indeed Clark Kent would stood outside. Not in costume. That was good. 

Jason looked to Alfred with eyes screaming to play along. “Are we expecting a guest?” 

Alfred had checked his own phone at this point, sliding it carefully back into his pocket. Upon receiving the silent red alert, he threw a protective look of steel towards Jason. “Not as such. I shall attend to the door and you must get to bed, young sir.” That meant for them to get to the cave's safe room.

Like Jason would leave poor Alfred to the mercies of an enemy that him and Tim stupidly brought to their front door!

Tim had the same idea. “I'll get it!” Tim said, shooting past both of them. 

“No, Master Tim,” Alfred insisted, darting after. 

Jason wasn't about to be left behind and leapt over the staircase.

~*~

~*~

~*~

“Mr. Kent,” Tim said with innocent surprise, the first to reach and open the door. “What're you doing here?” but his pounding heart likely have him away along with shaky hands, one tightly on the door knob and another in his pocket, on his phone. He made a mental note to work on mastering his body's reaction to fear. 

Kent assessed him carefully. He looked taller in the shadows of their front door, the dim lighting enhancing his foreboding height. “Tim, is your—is Mr. Wayne at home? I think we may need to have a talk.”

Tim opened his mouth to say something dumb like 'about what?’ when he was unceremoniously yanked back. 

“I think not,” Alfred pushed Tim behind him, obscuring the skinny boy from view quite easily. Tim wanted to scowl. He couldn't wait until he grew as tall and broad as Bruce! “It's the middle of the night, young man. What in heaven's name are you doing at Mr. Wayne's home? However you got past the front gate and security, you're trespassing and I must insist you leave immediately. If you want to speak with Mr. Wayne, make an appointment like everyone else.”

Instead of cowering at the scolding tone like any normal human would, even Tim felt secondhand shame here, Mr. Kent (Superman?!) quietly but firmly shook his head. “I'm sorry for the late hour disturbance but it's really important that I speak to Mr. Wayne.” 

Jason by now had arrived too and showed his customary confidence of knowing exactly what to do in a situation. Tim admired that. “He's not here. How about we let him know you stopped by.” 

Tim moved slightly to see how Kent reacted to that. He was pursing his lips but didn't look like he was going to force his way in. “This is important, as you both probably know,” he said pointedly, not bothering to hide his frown. They both flinched back. So Kent wasn’t going to deny that he was Superman.

Alfred sniffed. “This is highly inappropriate, bothering a family and making demands. I'm of a mind to ring the police,” he said with his snotty British voice combined with what the boys called stern-dad tone. That tone could get even Bruce to obey. 

And, instead of laser beaming his way through Alfred like Tim half expected, Kent flushed. Then, amazingly, he deflated. Alfred was magic. 

“You're right, of course,” Kent started, doing an incredible impression of someone who felt contrite, “I'll come back in the morning and discuss this with him.” 

Tim thought through the last ten minutes. There were several assumptions they were operating under. A major one was that Superman wasn't benign or the hero that the world believed. Bruce, especially, had imparted a sense of danger and hostility in regards to the alien. But what exactly had shown that to be true? Really, they should neutrally and without bias analyze his actions. With the additional history of a human family uncovered, that put an entirely new spin on the humanity and intentions of Superman. Because what if he did mean what he said? If he was there to protect and help?

Then Tim turned the encounter in his mind another way. A strange message and phone call. A stream of information about Superman's secret identity, about his family. Perhaps that could be seen as sinister, with an implied threat towards hurting those he cared about. They hadn't even thought Superman would react like a human or have connections, and so hadn't accounted for that element. But in that light, it would make sense Kent would rush over to confront the perceived threat. 

Well, maybe it didn't make sense exactly, because it was reckless and poorly planned. Bruce would never act that way. But it was a human instinct. Interesting. 

“You don't have to worry,” Tim added impulsively, despite Alfred and Jason trying to pull him back out of sight. He gave Kent a significant look.

“I don't know about that,” Bruce said from behind, causing the entire group to jump. 

He moved gracefully past Alfred and Jason, moving Tim further into the house with a firm hand. He was wearing black tactical pants and a tight long sleeved black shirt. He'd obviously (to Tim) just come back from patrol. His expression was unreadable. 

Oh no. 

This wasn't going to end well. 

~*~

~*~

~*~

This wasn't going to end without bloodshed, Bruce thought dispassionately. 

“Boys, go. Alfred, you know what to do,” Bruce commanded, heart and hands steady, even as he struggled to keep those in check. The biggest threat to the world stood at his threshold, in ill-fitting clothes and with a false meek expression on his face. He clearly studied human behavior but could only execute it awkwardly, shown by the poor posture and inability to make direct eye contact. Unbelievable how those slight tactics that any B-movie actor could do were employed so effectively to fool the world. 

“Mr. Wayne, um, wow, I'm really embarrassed about this. I'm truly sorry for the disturbance and misunderstanding. I'll go now, yeah? I thought, well, it doesn't really matter. I'll call to schedule an appointment at a more appropriate time.”

Instead of going like he told them, Tim stepped towards him and pulled on his arm.

“What're you doing?” Bruce heard Jason hiss. 

“Bruce, you don’t understand, I think we got this all wrong—” Tim started but Jason yanked the younger boy back in the house, as Bruce automatically stepped to block Tim from view. 

The alien watched with alertness. At any moment he could move and Bruce would be powerless to even track him, let alone stop him.

Except if he could stall for another minute and thirty seconds. 

“You're here now, aren't you,” Bruce said, letting the bite out, to a degree. He ignored Tim insistently tugging on the back of his shirt, let Jason handle his younger brothers concerns. 

“Get over here this instant! Your father is handling this,” Alfred said to the boys, likely to bring them down to the cave safe room and initiate the safety protocol for hostiles. 

More protests followed, but Bruce concentrated on the problem in front of him. He would deal with the boys complete recklessness later. 

“Look, I think you have the wrong idea about me,” the alien said. “I'm truly sorry for coming over unexpectedly. I didn't mean to cause any anxiety or a fuss. Your son's seem to have the crazy impression that...well. it sounds insane for me to even say it aloud, but, they seem to think I'm Superman.” A forced laugh didn't sell the words any better than a real one would've. 

Thirty seconds. Time to disarm. “I know what you are. Frankly, I'm really the idiot the tabloids make me out to be for not realizing it sooner." Bruce chuckled darkly. "Two _teenagers_ discovered the truth before anyone else. Now the pieces make perfect sense.”

“No, whatever you're thinking—” the alien started, but was cut short by the rising hum to roar of an engine winding down the road to the manor. 

Perfect timing. 

In case the alien possessed hereto unveiled telepathy, Bruce pushed his plan away. “What I'm thinking,” he said, voice coated in icy sincerity, “is that you're at my home, uninvited. I'm thinking that within a single blink, you could eviscerate my home and vanish my family in a way undetectable to any human resource. I'm thinking that you're an unstoppable force, a god among men, with the ability to bend us to your will.”

The roar approached, headlights shone to further illuminate the aliens face, which was twisted in a mimicry of shock and dismay. 

The alien breathed out, back turned from the pathway to the house. “No, no, that’s so far from—” and he wasn't paying attention 

“Bruce!” Dick yelled, smoothly throwing an object in an arch, skidding as he yanked the bike to the side to avoid crashing into the entryway. 

The object sailed over the aliens head and landed in Bruce's outstretched hand. The green glow lit his hand in a ghastly manner.

The alien collapsed to the ground, gasping almost soundless in pain. 

Bruce smiled grimly.

~*~

~*~

~*~

Bruce took the alien to the cave, an embarrassing amount of exertion required to carry the dense creature, glared at the boys at the entrance so they did not follow, and made Alfred go fetch a list of materials that are mainly to get rid of the main person who would stop him from a suspension of morality. He wished the boys had gone with Alfred, so they would all be out of the house, and texted Dick with orders to vacate the premise.

Once down, Bruce had placed the alien in handcuffs against two walls adjoining, normally not something that would hold it, but with the added green meteorite sitting to create two more corners, the alien was effectively boxed. Then he sits at his chair with a stiff spine, rubbing his forehead in an effort to stem the growing migraine. 

He reached the end of his unexpectedly put-together plan and now that the immediate danger was over and the threat contained, the adrenaline registered. His hands shook. He didn't quite turn his entire back to the alien; enough to have a modicum of privacy to regain his tranquility and blankness needed to deal with the next step, whatever that may be.

Before his thoughts took a dark turn of ways in which everything could’ve gone horribly wrong or what moral compromise he might have to make in the next few hours, a weak voice came from the alien, “I’m not what you think I am.” 

He shouldn’t answer but…”No, you’re probably worse.” He could think of several twisted scenarios that this powerful being could bring to fruition. 

“My name is Clark Kent,” the alien whispered, but the sound echoed in the cave walls forcing Bruce to hear it. “I was adopted as a baby by Martha and Jonathan Kent in Smallville, Kansas. They found me in a cornfield when my spaceship exited orbit into this hemisphere. I’m an investigative reporter with the Daily Planet, and I live in Metropolis in a,” he gasped for breath, rather dramatically, “tiny one bedroom apartment in a bad part of town. I drink my coffee with four sugars and four creams. I don’t like cats or the smell of patchouli. My mom was the one to sew my cape and I hate the name Superman, but I won’t deny that I feel like I was made to help people. Which is the only thing I'm trying to do. I'm sorry if I scared you or your children."

Bruce audibly scoffed, swiveling his chair around and standing. He didn’t get too close in case that was the alien’s last ditch effort, to rush him with his final strength. “Making an emotional appeal is pointless,” Bruce said coldly, however he reached around with one hand to search adoption records for the names and location specified. 

The alien huffed, managing to sit up in a more dignified position than laying curled in a ball. Bruce watched, alert for a change, but the alien only looked around with annoyingly sharp eyes. “I’m starting to understand that. What is this place anyway? An underground lair? Is this what billionaires do once they’ve run out of home renovation ideas?” 

“You don’t get to ask the questions,” Bruce snapped and then took a breath. He didn’t normally allow his adversaries to get under his skin. He strived to remain aloof and impartial. But this alien was quickly causing Bruce to grind his teeth in irritation. 

“Fine,” the alien said, moving with exaggerated strain to sit cross legged. Bruce narrowed his gaze to the alien’s massive tree trunk legs, covered by...sweatpants? And a Met U t-shirt, with a basic grey hoodie over it. Not exactly dressed for the occasion of taking over a planet. But no, that could be a deliberate manipulative tactic so Bruce would underestimate him. Perhaps the alien was trying to fit in and received bad information about appropriate intimidating attire. “But you realize you’ve kidnapped me, right?”

Bruce rolled his eyes involuntarily. Then cursed his reaction. Something about the alien was entirely exasperating. “It’s only kidnapping if you’re a human being.”

“That’s not very nice.” The disappointment in his voice made Bruce feel—no! 

“Enough distraction. I want to know why you came here tonight,” Bruce demanded, using his most menacing voice.

The alien reddened, another mismatched human reaction to the occasion. “Your sons figured out my identity,” he admitted.

Bruce surmised that much, deducing that it must have been during the attempted shooting at the newspaper. But why the boys hadn’t mentioned this pertinent information to him, and how the alien came to be there that night was still a mystery.

But he would get answers, one way or another.


	4. Handled

“You goddamn morons,” Dick scolded Jason and Tim in the kitchen. “Why would you keep something like this... from me?”

Jason snorted. “Because you would've told me not to do it.”

“Yeah exactly! I would've told you what a dumb fucking idea it was to taunt the strongest being in existence and bam, entire mess avoided.” 

“We don't know that,” Tim interjected. “Likely there are many more powerful beings we don't know about.”

Dick turned his glare to the younger boy, a rare occasion that had Tim shrinking back in contrition. “First off, don't jinx us like that. Second, I know this wasn't all Jason's harebrained scheme. Was it, Timmers?” 

“Maybe we should go see what Bruce is doing downstairs?” Tim asked meekly.

Dick ran his hands through his hair. “Do you want to shed light on why you thought it was a clever plot to try and trick Superman into confirming his secret identity?!”

“It worked,” Jason snapped, not wanting Tim to take the heat. He was a sensitive kid, and it was really Jason's fault for roping him into it. “And now we have him trapped.”

“What was that green rock?” Tim asked. “Where did you find it? How did you know it would work?”

“I didn't,” Dick said, “Bruce gave it to me awhile ago and when you texted me the alert, he called me right away to get the rock to him.”

“Of course Bruce has the one thing that stops Superman,” Jason muttered bitterly, “that is such a Bruce move.”

“Do you think he's hurt? We should make sure Superman is okay.”

Dick crossed his arms. “Bruce won't hurt him. He just wants to get a few answers…”

That sentence sat in space.

“I'm going to check on them,” Dick said, swift to turn and stride towards the cave. 

“I am too!” Jason refused to be left behind. 

Tim was at their heels. “Alfred says no one should leave me alone. Guess I need to go too.”

Dick paused. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You two stay here, Bruce won’t want you to be involved.” With his arms crossed and normally cheerful expression turned stern, he looked very parental in that moment. 

Jason made barf noises. “Um, I missed the part where someone appointed you the one in charge of us.” Tim felt nervous to directly defy Dick but slid to stand near Jason in physical solidarity.

“As the oldest and most responsible—” 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jason laughingly scoffed. “Last month, Bruce had to cut your credit limit because you bought a bouncy house.”

“That was to help catch drug dealers!” he protested, reddening.

“The case of the kindergarten drug dealers?”

“No, I already told everyone it was a guise for a college party to attract a frat house that was trafficking cocaine,” Dick said hotly.

“Oh, did the $900 dollar leather jacket also attract the frat house? Or the jet ski? Maybe the dozens of boxes of poptarts did,” Jason said, all sweet innocence.

“Oh my god, did Bruce go through my entire credit card statement?!” Dick asked in a tone a tad too worried. 

Jason didn’t want to dispel the festering paranoia and so failed to mention that it was him and Tim that had giggled over Dick’s purchases. Bruce had seen the bouncy house purchase, lowered Dick’s credit with a sigh of exasperation—they all knew it wasn’t precisely for a case, Dick loved bouncy houses—and continued running a billion-dollar revenue corporation and his vigilante activities. Bruce gave them a lot of latitude, and when it came to money, he had an unconscious rich boy attitude. Oh, as a parent, Bruce appeared to try and set limits. But those limits were excessively higher than any other person would find reasonable. And, really, Dick had learned that saying ‘it was to subtly help fight crime’ allowed for even more leeway. 

“Bruce is really concerned about your fashion choices,” Jason settled for saying to stir the pot and then circled back. “We’re going too. This was my mistake and I’m going to fix it.” He didn’t know how, but that plan will come later. His best plans were improvised.

“Absolutely not. I know if I check any of our phones, Bruce probably ordered us to leave the manor and let him deal with it alone. He will be less angry if I go. I’m the oldest.”

“I’m at fault. Bruce would want me to start on my redemption,” Jason argued.

Dick had to admit that would appeal to Bruce’s sense of morality but...“No, you’re not allowed to be involved. House rules.” Those were sacrosanct.

“This is an exception to the house rules.”

“There are no exceptions.”

“I’m making one!”

“That’s not how a rule works!”

“Let me go. Stop being Mister Fucking Perfect!”

“Shouting and cursing at me isn’t going to make me change my mind.”

“It’s really none of your business. You shouldn’t even be here.”

“But I am. Bruce called me, so it is my business.”

“I can’t fucking believe--wait, where did Tim go?”

~*~

~*~

~*~

Bruce fact checked everything Kent said and came to the realization that he might be telling the truth. That was both a relief and irritant. Bruce had no desire for an all powerful enemy. Yet he wasn't sure what to do with a potential ally either. 

Bruce sighed out a low curse in Arabic. 

"Really, you should watch your language," Kent chided from where he was watching Bruce with those sharp eyes. "Your kids have  
picked up on your habits."

Bruce felt the vein in his forehead throb. He could already tell that this guy would be a pain in his ass. 

Bruce stood, deciding it was time to get rid of the unwelcome hostage, and loomed. "You understand you shouldn't contact us again. I will keep silent about this... development. For now. But you must agree to stay out of Gotham and away from my family."

Kent squinted at Bruce. "I recognize that you're the one in control here, with the green rock and this weird dungeon lair. But I'm starting to think there's more to this than meets the eye."

Did no one tell this idiot that you shouldn't deduce secrets while restrained in a cave? 

Bruce leveled a fierce glare, took a step closer, and loomed more. He dropped his voice an octave to effectuate a successful growl. "I'm allowing you to leave today,” he paused so that this charity could be keenly recognized, “but if I ever feel you're a threat, this is your only warning. I won't be so merciful again."

Kent blinked and swallowed. He kept further thoughts to himself, finally picking up a survivor skill or two.

Bruce walked closer, planning to render the superbeing unconscious and finally get him out of the Wayne family hair. 

Then Tim burst in. “Don’t kill him!” 

Only decades of intense training prevented Bruce from letting out an exasperated sigh. 

“Go back upstairs,” he barked, not wishing his boys to become anymore meshed in the situation.

But the quiet, obedient, and sweet Tim of the last few months vanished. In his place stood another stubborn and righteous boy. Exactly what the Wayne family needed...said no one. “No. I won’t let you do this. Superman isn’t dangerous! I think he really does want to help.”

“I do,” Kent affirmed. For a captive, he seemed entirely too blithe and unafraid.

This fueled Tim. “You should recruit him! You wouldn’t have to be--”

“Tim,” Bruce said sharply, facing his newest and youngest. Who was about to blow the secret identity thing, if Kent hadn’t already put the very obvious pieces together. Yet Bruce wasn’t going to be the one to spell the final word out for him. “Enough. No one is killing anyone. I told you to stay upstairs. We are going to talk about this at great length when I’m finished here. Now, go.”

At the final word, like the universe wanted to play tricks, Jason and Dick stumbled down the stairs at a crash. 

The vein in his forehead let out a disagreeable hum. Bruce made eye contact with Dick, who was accustomed to the varied silent glares of his adopted father, and communicated strongly to get out.

“C’mon, see? It’s fine, you were worried for nothing,” Dick whispered loudly to his younger brothers.

“What’re you going to do with him?” Jason asked, ignoring Dick, and slipping to stand near Tim. 

“Go. Upstairs. Now.” Bruce said with steel lining his voice. 

Jason’s lip curled in the way that indicated he might be about to argue and stubbornly refuse to comply. But Tim grabbed his sleeve and whispered something, causing Jason to huff and both the boys to quietly walk towards Dick. 

Bruce gave the eldest boy a sharp nod and Dick hustled everyone back upstairs.

“I told you,” he heard Dick say to Jason.

“Whatever, dickface!”

Their voices faded, bickering, as they ascended back through the once-secret passage that seemed now a revolving playtime door.

“Quite the family you have,” Kent said wryly when they were alone again.

Bruce didn’t respond. He walked over to where the green meteorites sat and picked both up, placing them in his pocket. Then he unlocked Kent from the handcuffs on the wall and stepped back as the larger man gingerly rubbed at his wrists. 

“About this setup of yours—”

Bruce took great pleasure in pressing a sequence into his computer that caused a gate to slide down, obscuring Kent from view and locking him. The locked room rotated and he watched on video surveillance as the gate opened to release Kent out into the yard, well away from the house.

“That was unexpected,” he heard Kent mutter before the man stupidly launched into the air faster than the eye could track, instead of say, walking out of sight of the manor (not that it would have mattered, Bruce had the circumference lined with cameras for miles). Still.

If he ever saw Kent again, he’d have an itemized list of critiques about how Kent went about his secret identity. Overall: poor.

Not that he would see him again. That was very unlikely to happen.

The more immediate problem, Bruce mused as he stood, would be to address the complete lack of sense his boys used in facilitating the entire fiasco.

~*~

~*~

~*~

Bruce walked up the cave stairs, accurately predicting that the boys would be hovering at the entrance from the mansion side. His anger, suppressed for the purposes of dealing with the alien problem, ignited when he thought of all the ways in which the situation could’ve gotten out of hand. And his boys harmed.

He silently exited, and made a sharp gesture for them to follow. They did, looking alternately forlorn and defiant. Alfred stood at the edge of the hall and Bruce shrugged a shoulder to the silent question of whether there would be a body to move. Alfred knew him well enough however to only roll his eyes and retreat to his own quarters, content to let Bruce handle the admonishments. 

He strode to his study and once inside, he said, “Dick, you can go. You two, sit.” 

Dick knew better than to intervene and only shot his brothers a sympathetic look before leaving. Jason and Tim sat, heads hung.

“How did you access my file about Superman?” Bruce demanded without pause.

Tim squirmed. “Last month. It was open when I came down here to watch the monitor.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Bruce said.

Tim sucked in a breath.

“It was me, I showed him,” Jason said, adding a mix of displeasure and annoyance to his voice to make the falsity believable. Jason was pretty good at lying, in general. 

“No, you didn’t,” Bruce said and rubbed his forehead. They should know by now that Bruce was excellent at spotting lies.

“I guessed the password,” Tim finally blurted in a rush. Jason wanted to smack him to be quiet. Even if Bruce didn’t believe them, he wouldn’t be able to accurately pinpoint the culprit if they stayed silent about the matter.

“My password is fifteen characters long with numbers, letter, and symbols randomly chosen by Alfred and reordered. You didn’t guess my password,” Bruce said, sounding slightly offended at the mere possibility. “Tell me now, Tim.”

Tim, at this point in his young life, wasn’t able to withstand the pressure of his beloved authority figure demanding an answer. “I made a computer program that figured it out,” he admitted softly, lip trembling, “I’m sorry! I just wanted to know! I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Bruce’s lips thinned and he looked over at Jason. “And you?”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Dick wrote it down on a sticky note, along with all his other passwords.” A rising tide of anger began to swell inside him, frustrated with the inaction and the stern lectures and disappointed looks. 

Bruce looked like he wanted to roll his eyes but did the more adult version and sighed in irritation. “I told him not to do that,” he muttered.

“This wouldn’t even be an issue if you let us out in the field!” Jason burst out suddenly, standing and crossing his arms, startling the other two. “We train and go to school and do everything you think is necessary for us to be competent sidekicks, but we’re never going to be good enough, are we? This is all some elaborate way to keep us occupied so we don’t go off on our own and make our own superhero identities. _You’re stunting our potential._”

Bruce took a step forward, placing his hands on Jason’s shoulder, inhaling deeply before responding and staring directly in Jason’s eyes. “I’m preparing you for the worst case scenario,” he said gravely, “that this type of life will find you somehow. I know you have a lot of anger inside you and I want you to learn to direct it in a healthy way first, not to take it out on the people of Gotham. What you do when you are an adult with a fully formed brain and capable of making an informed decision is your choice. But right now, you aren’t that. Neither of you. This situation showed me exactly that. You are children.” 

Jason flinched. 

“Specifically,” Bruce continued, gripping Jason’s shoulders a little tighter, “you are my children. I’m not letting you endanger yourselves while you’re in my care. I know I’ve been remiss in supervising you in the past, but that is going to change. You’re both grounded.” 

“Grounded?” Jason echoed in astonishment.

“For how long?” Tim asked and looked fascinated by the concept, not upset. In fact, he seemed to be biting back a smile at what Bruce was saying. Which to Jason, proved that Tim was absolutely a huge weirdo, what could he possibly be smiling about?! 

Bruce paused then said: “For...a year.”

“What?!” Jason did not shriek. It was more a calm expression of dismay.

Bruce nodded, more assuredly. “Until you can prove that you won’t act recklessly. I imagine that will take a long time.”

“This is so unfair,” Jason protested, and more angry words find themselves bursting out. “You always punish me for stupid shit that Dick or Tim gets away with! Why do you hate me? Maybe you should just unadopt me and send me back to the gutters! At least the people there would care more about me!”

Bruce rolled his eyes then. “You’re not going anywhere. Unfortunately, you’re stuck with me. But if it’s any consolation, Tim will be joining you in the year long grounding.”

“Really?” Tim squeaked excitedly.

Jason groaned. “But this isn’t a punishment to him.”

Bruce considered. “No laptops or tablets or computers. And no smartphones. You’re both banned from technology.”

Tim deflated, finally looking closer to appropriately contrite about being grounded. 

“Now, go to your rooms,” Bruce said tiredly.

Jason stomped out while Tim followed meekly behind, closing the door behind him. 

~*~

~*~

~*~

Outside, Dick flipped down from a ceiling beam, surprising no one. They went to Dick’s room by silent agreement.

Jason thought he should be angrier than he actually felt. He’d resented Tim’s presence for months, having to divide attention. But when that attention came in form of getting yelled at and in trouble...well, it wasn’t so bad to share that unwanted limelight.

"I can't believe you guys got grounded," Dick said in amazement once they reached his room and shut the door. "He never grounded me."

Jason punched Dick on the arm and flopped on the bed. "We get it, bounce boy, you were a boring goody-two-shoes."

Dick spluttered. "I'll have you know that I've snuck out of the mansion and did things that Bruce would've definitely disapproved of--"

Jason feigned a yawn. "My name is Dickface and I'm borrring."

Dick reddened but before they could have a nice tussle about the issue, Tim cut in. "Do you think Superman is mad at us?"

"Who cares?" Jason groaned. "We're the ones that are truly suffering for being too smart and figuring out his identity. This is so unfair."

"To be fair," Dick said, "you totally shouldn't have done, like, anything you did. Bad choices all around."

A nice, fat middle finger responded to that stupid comment. Yet there was no real anger behind it, only annoyance at having a dumb older brother acting as such. "Tim is the real mastermind here. He might look like a sweet and innocent kid but that's to cover up the diabolical mind underneath."

Tim blushed at the praise and scrutiny, looking down. Jason sat up for a moment to reach over and ruffle his little brothers hair. Yeah, Tim was alright. 

"Next time," Jason whispered to Tim, "we won't get caught."

Tim nodded sagely. "In the brief analysis I did of what happened, I believe in the future we must initiate plans in an empty house." Which translated to: we would've gotten away with it if it weren't for Alfred. Hard to blame the older man when he was only trying to take care of them, though. 

"Or maybe," Dick interrupted, "leave this stuff to the adults."

"Nah," Jason and Tim said in unison. 

Dick threw up his hands. "Then don't leave me out!" 

Jason considered. "Depends if you're going to wear that lame leather jacket and black eyeliner." 

A pillow to the face started a war that would only end when Tim brokered a peace treaty from under the bed, holding Jason's ankle to keep him from leaping on the furniture to get to Dick, who was perched somehow above the window frame. 

The whole thing had Jason laughing, anger dissipated, and thinking that maybe he'd been doing his math all wrong. Yeah, sometimes Tim received more attention than Jason but the Tim deserved and needed it. Tim added to the number of people Jason could rely on, not subtracted. 

And now when Jason wanted to do something unsanctioned by parental authority, he knew just who to go to for a partner in crime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed that little adventure as much as I did. Every comment and kudo is deeply cherished and appreciated.


End file.
